


TWRP Story Collection

by orphan_account



Category: Game Grumps, NSP - Fandom, Ninja Sex Party (Band), TWRP | Tupper Ware Remix Party (Band)
Genre: (Game grumps and NSP are mentioned), Drabble, One Shot Collection, Some of these stories will probably rot your teeth i'm just gonna warn you now, Space Canadians Doing Dumb Shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-03 21:11:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10975410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: An ever-increasing collection of little stories about our favorite space Canadians from the future, TWRP. These will range in category from fluff and domestic to depictions of physical injury and abuse, so, reader be warned.





	1. Character Preface

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladydawn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydawn/gifts), [leedeeloo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leedeeloo/gifts).



> The appearances of Hogan, Phobos, Meouch, and Sung, as well as the writing of all these stories, are inspired by the amazing writers LeeDeeLoo, LadyDawn, and Somethingintheair. I would not have started writing about TWRP if it wasn't for you guys!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A basic run-down of what all the Space Boys of TWRP look like in these up and coming fics.

Character Preface:

These are my headcanon appearances for all 4 of these lovely space Canadians, and are thus how they appear in the following mini-stories to come.

Doctor Sung: A crème-to-sunflower yellow skinned cyclops with pointed ears and a fine dusting of reddish-orange freckles on his forehead and nose bridge. The iris of his eye is a silver blue, and his gaze is mildly psychic and allows him to compel people to give him information. He has rarely used this since he arrived on Earth, instead opting to wear overhead gear most of the time. Sung’s hair is a fair blonde, cut to his ears. He’s trying to let it grow out without it getting shaggy, though. On fancy days he combs it all back with a little styling gel, claiming it makes him look cooler. Doctor Sung is also a partial cyborg, with the majority of his chest cavity scooped and replaced with a giant prismatic core that serves as his heart, blood purifier, and body heat source.

Lord Phobos: A slightly more reptilian-looking alien, Phobos has two sets of solid-green eyes (one on top of the other), and scaley dark magenta skin that varies In intensity the closer it is to bone (with darker spots over his knuckles, elbows, ect). His head has no hair, but does have a district cone shape to the back of it, layered with a few large scale-plates that shimmer. His ears look almost like webbed fins, the thinnest parts of the skin on them appearing transparent green. Phobos is very resistant to intense heat, and also has the trait of oxygen-permeable skin that lets him dwell underwater for short periods of time. His species is a very advanced one, and has manipulated their own gene sequence to minimize needs for food, water, and sleep. His facial expressions can be hard to read, but his gaze is always cool and intelligent. Phobos used to speak in only universal hand dialect, but since moving to Earth has taken up ASL and LSQ.

Havve Hogan: Though capable of speaking through an autogenerated vocal box, Hogan tends favor muteness. His face remains uncovered all the time. However, the large metal jawpiece that Sung gave him for aesthetic purposes can get squeaky or hurt his neck after long periods of time, and when it’s removed Hogan has a second mouth underneath (indicated with nothing but a fine line running across the black metal plate that is his true face) and holds hundreds of shark-like teeth within. All of Hogan’s silver-white face plates can be removed, but he prefers to keep them bolted on. Without them, his head is a smooth mimic of a human one made of black steel, with 2 deep sockets containing a blinking red sensor in each. He has no nose bridge, and the rest of his body is a relatively seamless metal shell. Hogan is a cyborg, and the only human parts of him that remain are his flesh hands, a brain suspended in his cranium, his lungs, and digestive system. Hogan needs to eat to live. The drummer was also quick to learn ASL and LSQ when arriving to Earth.

Commander Meouch: Looks almost exactly like his mask on the outside, and wears it claiming that “the best way to hide is in plain sight, asshat. Why the hell are you asking, anyway?” (Excerpt from Sung attempting to ask Meouch about his appearance and promptly getting a bowl of cereal thrown in his face). Underneath the mask, Meouch has a feline/human appearance with a cleft lip, sharp teeth, feline eyes (golden in hue), and two short ears which fit perfectly into the empty spaces provided by the fake ears on his mask. He also has a short mane of thick brown-blonde hair that grows all around his head and no his neck, stopping about a few inches below his shoulders. His bandmates force him to shave it down monthly lest it show through huge bumps in his costume. Meouch’s skin in a blended mix of tanned brown and blotches of burnt umber on his chest, forearms, and upper legs. His nails are actually very long and sharp, so he’s regularly pinned to the tabled and trimmed down by Phobos or Sung.

Since all the space boys are, in fact, aliens, they have an extremely difficult time digesting a lot of the processed earth foods we eat, such as processed flour, sugar, yogurt, or snack foods. All of the band members stick to paleo diets (except for Meouch, who won’t touch anything that’s not fish or meat with a 10 foot pole). Phobos favors sea foods like seaweed, shrimp, and poke. Sung favors rice, beans, and fresh greens like cabbage and string beans. Hogan, however, will eat almost anything that is put in front of him, since he no longer has a discerning palate; or any palate at all, really.


	2. Earth Weather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Weather Phenomenon.  
> The Earth is a scary, scary place.

“What the fuck.” Whispered Sung, “What the **fuck**?”

His hands were pressed against the icy glass of the kitchen window as he stared wide-eyed at the phenomenon occurring outside, the cup of noodles he was making on the counter completely forgotten. Outside, balls of ice the size of giant beads were pouring down, filling the house with the overwhelming noise of one million drums.

Meouch swung around the doorway into the kitchen, sliding a bit on the white tiles in his panic.

“What the hell is going on, doc? Are we under attack?” The feline said loudly, his voice cracking as he looked wildly out the window. Sung looked panicked, threading his hands through his blonde hair until it was in a puffy state of disarray. God, what if they _were_ under attack? They all thought Earth would be safe for them to hide away on; were they wrong? Is this all their fault? Did they bring about the destruction of humanity all because of their own past? Doctor Sung’s chest felt tight as he gripped the edges of the counter, knocking the cup of noodles into the sink.

“Get the warp engines heated up. Whoever’s targeting earth with this assault must be after us.” Sung barked at Meouch, who in turn nodded sharply before heading out the door. He didn’t make it far, however, as a light magenta arm stuck out and caught him.

_I heard yelling. Is everything ok?_ Phobos signed blearily as he wandered into the kitchen in nothing but striped pajamas. It was only 7:00 AM, after all.

Sung ground his teeth, swinging his whole arm towards the window. “I dunno, Phobos, does this shit LOOK ok? We’re under attack, we gotta get a move on. Now!”

Phobos, who was yawning openly, froze. After a few seconds, a full blown-smile had crept up on his face, his shoulders beginning to move up and down gently in silent laughter. Bringing both hands up, he stepped to the side so Meouch and Sung could both see him signing. _Do you mean hail_? He said, slowly finger-spelling the word hail.

The tiny kitchen was silent for a few moments before Meouch spoke.

“What the fuck is a hail?” He said, jutting his head forward and shifting his weight to his other leg. A feeling started to pool in his gut; a feeling that he might have just made a fool of himself.

Phobos slipped back out the door to silently pad down the hall, leaving Sung and Meouch to exchange confused looks; neither of them were sure they still weren’t in danger. Less than a minute later, Phobos returned with a 4 inch thick hardcover book that was labeled simply “7th grade Meteorology”, which he deposited into Sung’s hands _. Here,_ he signed as he walked back out the door to bed _, educate yourself._

After 10 minutes of Sung and Meouch hunched uncomfortably close to each other to read the fine print in the textbook, they slowly raised their heads in disbelief. The hail had slowed down a bit, leaving a cover of bubbly ice all over their messy backyard. Meouch’s mouth was open in disbelief.

“So water just…does that? Earth does that shit… to itself?” He said quietly, hooking both hands behind his head.

After a moment of stunned silence and studying the scene outside, Sung whipped around to face the commander, his chin pulled back and his face split into an impossibly wide grin.

“Oh my god, Meouch.” He replied, “I love this planet so much.”

Meouch put his head into his hands, deflating in exasperation as Doctor Sung hurried into the backyard, slipping and sliding on the fallen hail in utter delight.


	3. Delivery Service

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Delivery Service.  
> Thai food can be competitive business, you know.

 

There was only one restaurant within 5 miles that would still deliver to their house. There was really no blaming the other ones, to be fair.

With “Sami’s Pizzeria”, the poor delivery girl was nearly scared out of her skin when Havve answered the door while also trying to fix his vocal dispatch speaker, resulting in a bloodcurdling and static-filled scream from the 6’7’’ robot. The trembling blonde deliverer dropped the pineapple and anchovy pizza on their doorstep and bolted back down their driveway, white as a sheet. From then on their calls never ended up actually connecting through to the local pizza store.

They couldn’t get the gyros they liked so much, either. “Greek Goddess Gyros” stopped delivering after 3 of their delivery boys had been pulled into the house along with the food, and forced to sit at the table with 4 aliens while they had dinner. Sung was very proud of the fact that he had a few successful “friendly dinner parties”, and it took him weeks to realize he had a very warped view of true human customs. The delivery boys had actually be shaking like leafs, and were all convinced they were about to be murdered by psychopaths in futuristic garb.

That, unfortunately, left just one restaurant that would bring the four space boys food on a regular basis. “Home Thai”, a dingy little shop run by a little old lady and her grandson, that served cheap (and absolutely delicious) Thai foods.  A few weeks ago, when Meouch was lurking around the downtown area of Toronto at 3:00 AM, he snagged a bowl of flash cooked beef with sesame oil from the joint and from then on insisted that it be everybody’s go-to delivery service. The best thing about it? The old woman who owned the shop and made the deliveries actually LIKED the futuristic rockers. The last time she brought them their Styrofoam containers of rice and minced pork salad, both the spacemen had run to the door in a childish race, Sung managing to get the corner of his chest piece snagged in the hem of Meouch’s shirt. They opened the door while still violently yelling at each other in Universal Language, and the old woman just smiled and handed them their boxes.

Their delivery system continued on that way for some time, with some new weird alien fiasco taking place in the background while someone paid for the food. The most recent time they bought Southern Fish Curry and Shrimp Rice, Hogan gently took the food inside while Phobos and Meouch duked it out over a bird that had flown into the house: Phobos wanted to catch it and let it go, and Meouch was adamant about eating it. But no matter what, the old lady didn’t care, and would only smile and make her slow way back to the car. Over the course of a few months, it became ritual to get Thai on Fridays and race to the door for it: first one there got dibs on filling their plate.

However, the outcome of the race was always the same. The doorbell would ring, and Doctor Sung, Hogan, and Meouch would all look up at each other from their activities in the living room, then bolt for the door. Childish chaos was unavoidable. It would start with Hogan snagging Sung’s waistband to slow him down, then to Meouch slipping Hogan’s foot out from under him. On a good day Meouch would get up maybe 3 of the 7 steps leading to the door before he was pulled backwards, falling ass-first onto Hogan’s chest as Sung hoisted himself up the banister. The boys were silent in their urgent speed to make it to the door, except for the clatter of metal and the occasional grunt or swear word. But no matter what, when they finally arrived at the top, Phobos was always there, already smiling and nodding kindly at the old lady and getting their food. Sung may groan and Meouch may smack his visor angrily in a final retaliation, but they all knew it was routine by now. But none of them actually knew how Phobos managed to be there first, especially since you could see every hall of the house from the living room.

None of them knew that every Friday, Phobos had made it a habit to sit and read on the front porch stairs for a half hour before their food came.


	4. Bathroom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Bathroom  
> Bathroom Time is Private Time. Right?

 

Sharing a house with other people comes with huge perks. You’re never lonely, someone is always making food, and you can always count on someone to be there for you. That’s what Meouch read online, anyway.

Now he knew that the whole “share one house with your best friends” shtick was bullshit. Because yes, it might be cozy and comforting, and he might never feel alone or sad.

But there was only one goddamn bathroom.

For the first week of them all sharing a 2 bedroom house, things worked miraculously well, people only needing to use the restroom just as someone else was done with it. Then the magic ended.

You see, most beings work on a Get-a-strike-and-you’re-out method. Meough had thrown that idea out the window, thinking himself a very tolerant feline. In hindsight, he should have listened.

The first time something bad happened in their bathroom, Meouch was just brushing his teeth. Someone knocked on the door, loudly.

“I’ll be out in one second!” Meouch called through the peeling wooden door, mouth full of minty suds. He’d never get used to toothbrushes, the way the scraped across your gums painfully; in the future in was normal to never brush your teeth at all, what with your body being inhabited with an assortment of micro-bots that fought disease, infection, and plaque. Meouch had barely touched the toothbrush to his back teeth when the door to his left split in half with a defeating crack. Meouch let out a shriek, choked on his toothbrush, and managed to stumble backwards and land in the bathtub, pulling the shower curtain down in the process. When his eyes stopped watering from all the mint in his lungs, the commander looked up to see, in place of a nice locked door, a dust-covered Havve Hogan. Meouch coughed, straining to sit upright.

“H-havve? What the fuck, man?” He wheezed, throat raw from the toothbrush being lodged in all the wrong places. Hogan looked around, confused. A dial tone click emanated from the robot, then a soft whirring as his vocal system booted up.

“You said you would be out in one second. I waited approximately one second, by standard Earth time, and you did not emerge from the restroom facility. I made the logical assumption that you may be in physical peril.” A deep automated voice crackled from Hogan’s chest, and paused. “..You are not in any danger.”

Meouch groaned, letting his head fall back against the tiles of the shower as he coughed weakly. Raising a finger to his mouth, he wiped away some of the intense-smelling foam that was dangerously close to his hypersensitive nose. “It’s. Ugh. It’s a fucking metaphor, you goddamn sentient trash can.” Meouch spat at the drummer as he untangled himself from the shower curtain.

Hogan was silent and frozen as he watched the feline hopelessly try to extract himself from his tub predicament. After a few moments, he piped up. “Now can I use the ba-“

“Get the fuck out of here, Hogan.”


	5. Hip Fashion Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Fashion  
> I'm weak for Sung misunderstanding the basics of human social constructs.

Summer in Canada is always hotter than expected, especially to the four aliens who had never experienced a Canadian summer. As the temperatures rose, the space travelers seemed to deflate, lounging on their threadbare couches or melting into puddles under drafts of heat radiating from open windows.

Summer days were quiet, usually. No sounds in the house except for the constant low hum of 6 different fans, and the occasional grunt as Meouch shifted positions on whatever surface he decided to sleep on for the day. His newest favorite spot was the cold stone countertops of the kitchen.

At least, it was quiet until Doctor Sung came tromping into the living room in the most ridiculous outfit Phobos had ever seen.

Phobos heard a set of footsteps approach the living room doorway, and lifted his head from reading the Teen Vogue magazine he had found on the street earlier that morning. If he had had eyebrows, they would have shot up in surprise. There, standing in the doorway in a triumphant superman pose, was Doctor Sung in booty shorts and a flowery crop top.

Phobos froze as Sung proudly lifted his arms, turning slowly so the guitarist could take in the full extent of his new wardrobe.

Carefully setting down the Teen Vogue, Phobos slowly signed, _What…are you wearing?_

Sung beamed, hurrying over to show Phobos a scroll of images on his ‘newest obsession’, a thin and flimsy iphone.

“So, in human culture there are ‘hip styles’ for certain seasons, right?” Sung began, shoving the small screen in Phobo’s face, “So I looked up ‘cute summer outfits’, because it’s our duty to humanity to fit in, and I pulled together something that I think by this time period’s standards would be quite fashionable!” Sung pulled at the bleach-frayed hem of the booty shorts, frowning as he tried to tug them downwards over his freckled thighs, “A bit tight though.”

Phobos dragged a scaled hand down his face, exasperated. Sung was clearly still out of touch about the depth of humanity’s sophistication when it came to cultural expression. The doctor from space, an ancient alien from billions of years in the future and possessing an IQ immeasurable by human standards, was uncomfortably perched on the couch’s arm handle waiting for Phobo’s reaction. While also dressed up as a Vogue high school girl.

Phobos couldn’t help it. The corner of his lip began to wobble into a smile. Sung lust looked so… _ridiculous._ He was constantly tugging and adjusting a small, sunflower patterned crop top that stopped at mid-chest level and left the majority of his arms, neck, and shoulders bare. His shorts were bleached for an aesthetic effect, with worn bits of thread sticking out all over that Sung would NOT stop tugging at. The shorts also did nothing to hide his muscly alien legs; you could barely even call them shorts in the first place. More like underwear. It took Phobos a few seconds to look down at the Doctor’s feet, and when he did his smile he had been hiding so well cracked open wide as he started to laugh aloud: a soft, whispering wheeze.

Doctor Sung had painted his toenails with little, delicate sunflowers.

Sung saw Phobos looking at his nails and laughing, and a deep frown pulled his mouth downwards. “Did.. did I do it wrong?” He asked, peering at his own toes, “The article said that tying in common themes through an outfit could bring you into peak fashion.”

This only made Phobos laugh harder as the realization struck him: _Oh my god. Our leader is an idiot._

Lord Phobos leaned forward, eyes crinkled as he smiled. This only made Sung frown harder, examining every aspect of his outfit.

“Phobos, hey. Answer me. Am I doing it right?” He asked, gesturing to his whole ensemble for emphasis.

Phobos looked up at his band leader, his space soldier, his best friend, and smiled weakly _. Yeah buddy,_ he signed, _you did it just fine._


	6. Fuck Pants (SickFic)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Sick  
> Fuck pants, right? I mean, there's even a song about it.

 

Meouch had forgotten all about being sick.

After all, in the future, disease and ailment had faded to nothing but a bad fairytale, something reserved for people lost out in the desert or someplace very far away from the central population. In the future, sick doesn’t even really EXIST.

But it does in 2017.

“Oh god.” Meouch muttered as soon as he woke up, “Oh god, oh god.” His eyelids were gummed shut, but he didn’t need to see to know he was in deep shit. The sheets around him were soaked in sweat, and he felt like he was on fire. The room itself seemed to spin around him as he struggled to sit upright in bed. His throat was burning, too. If felt like someone had scrubbed his insides with sandpaper; hot, evil sandpaper that clogged his brain and made it hard to think. Meouch reached out in the dark with a clammy hand, trying to hit the lamp button for light, but instead fell out of bed in an unceremonious lump of damp sheets.

On the other side of the room, two red lights turned on.

There were only two bedrooms in the house that all the spacemen lived in, so they made do by shoving two singles beds into each room. (Phobos argued that they could just outfit other rooms to be bedrooms, but Sung insisted they abide by human custom).

Havve Hogan woke up to the loud thump on the floor, instantly disengaging from sleep mode and flicking on the central room light. Somewhere inside the puddle of fallen blankets, Meouch groaned at the sudden brightness. With robotic speed and efficiency, Hogan had extracted Meouch from the sheets in a few seconds, and held him away from his body with two hands like he was a limp ragdoll.

“Hey buddy,” Meouch panted, trying to smile, “I don’t feel so great.” His brown cheeks were flushed and he practically radiated heat. Hogan stared at his limp friend for a few seconds with his sharp red gaze, trying to figure out what to do. Meouch groaned again as Hogan suddenly tucked him under on robot arm and began to march down the hall outside, carrying him like a football. With a loud slam, Hogan kicked open the bedroom door at the hall’s end.

“I’m Awake!” Screamed Sung, bolting upright from the bottom level of a bunkbed and promptly hitting his head on the metal bracers. “Shit!” The loud clang jolted Phobos awake, and the sleepy reptilian alien leaned over the top railing, rubbing one set of his eyes with tired hands.

Hogan cradled Meouch’s hot form in his arms, thrusting him towards Sung who immediately recoiled.

“Whoa-wait-Is he, uh, you know, sic-” Sung began, getting out of bed in his yellow onesie. The doctor’s question was immediate answered when Meouch’s head turned slightly as he vomited directly onto Hogan’s chest. Hogan froze, the tempo of the 808 drum machine audibly increasing as he clenched and unclenched his hands rapidly. Both Sung’s and Phobos’s faces were frozen as well, their mouths in a perfect o shape. If Hogan’s temper flared right now, Meouch might not recover from its effects in his current condition.

There was a click, then a whirr.

“Fix Him. Now.” Came a terse automated voice from inside the robot. Doctor sung nodded, swallowing dryly as he helped Hogan bring Meouch back to his bed. Right before them could get him into bed to treat him, Meouch gripped the side of the wall, standing on his own.

“You ok, buddy?” Sung said softly, readying to catch him if he fell. Meouch nodded. And then immediately ripped off his striped pajama pants.

“Who, ok there pal, let’s not get nude right now ok? You’re sick.” Sung said, moving to stop the bassist from doing any more clothing damage. The feline held up a hand, then turned to face Sung with a very serious expression on his face.

“I know.” He said solemnly in a hoarse voice, staring right at Sung, “But dude. Fuck pants.”

Then Meouch promptly fell backwards into Sung’s arms, burning with fever. Despite his dead weight and the overwhelming smell of vomit from his mane, Sung grinned tiredly as he dumped Meouch into bed. Fuck pants. Sounds like a song idea.

The doctor helped situate Meouch so he was leaning on a few pillows, then turned to talk to Hogan. “Thanks for letting me know, man, I can take it from here if you-“.

But Hogan was already down the hall, holding his arms away from himself in disgust, waddling as fast as he could to the nearest shower. God, he was _so glad_ he could never get sick.


	7. Haircut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Hair Care  
> Why are cats so touchy about their hair?

 

It had been exactly one month since the group of four aliens had performed in front of a live audience in the pub on the outside of town. It was wonderful, packed with a few hundred people, lights flashing, and their costumes covered in fresh paint and tiny new designs for added depth.

They had also all been well groomed for that event.

But now it was a month later, and Doctor Sung was in the kitchen, having a bowl of cereal, and audibly grinding his teeth as he waited for Meouch.

See, Meouch had a mane.

Not just a lot of hair, a full blown mane. Inches thick, he had locks of hair that now fell below his shoulders and down his chest, surrounding his entire neck and face with waves of curly golden-brown.

He hadn’t had a haircut since last performance, and Sung was sick to death of it. He was sick of having to reach into the drain and pull out inches upon inches of hair every time Meouch took a shower. He was sick of waking up with it in his mouth when he fell asleep on the wrong surface. He was sick of feeling it under his toes on the floor of the living room. _And most of all_ , Sung thought to himself angrily, _I’m sick to fucking death of finding it in my cereal_. The doctor grimaced as he yanked a large strand out from underneath a pile of soggy cornflakes, flicking it across the table.

Meouch sighed as he walked into the kitchen, chasing the rich smell of the morning coffee Sung had made for that purpose alone. It was time to have a talk with the Commander.

“G’mornin’, Doc.” The feline said in a rough voice, fumbling about in the fridge for the half and half creamer. The feline had taken his mask off for once, and was dressed in a casual rocker tee and drawstring pajama bottoms. Sung sighed, rising to pour out his ruined breakfast into the sink, and turned to face the half of Meouch that wasn’t in the fridge.

“You need a haircut.” Sung said, raising a cup of coffee to his lips. Black, no creamer, 20 teaspoons of stevia.

This made Meouch bolt upright, slamming the back of his head into the told of the refrigerator ceiling. Cussing hoarsely under his breathe, he turned to face Sung. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

Sung sighed, rubbing the tension out of his forehead. “We have a charity performance at the town hall in less than a day, and you know damn well that you can’t have all that hair sticking out from under your suit. Some human is gonna notice, and that won’t end well for any of us.”

Meouch crossed his arounds in front of his chest, squaring his shoulders. “No. It’s my hair, I’ll do whatever I goddamn want, Doc.”

“Cut you hair, Meouch.”

“Fuck you.”

Sung quietly set down his mug, looking coolly at Meouch with his one eye. “Then you leave me no choice. Phobos, Hogan, it’s time.”

Meouch’s eyes widened; it was a trap all along. Sung came at him quickly, but he slipped out of his grasp like an eel, bolting for the kitchen door. He didn’t get very far. Rounding the corner to the hall he was face to face with Phobos, who pointed silently over Meouch’s shoulder. He didn’t even have time to turn around before two giant metal arms wrapped around his torso, pinning his arms to his waist. Meouch hissed as he was hoisted up into the air, kicking wildly as he was brought back into the kitchen by Hogan. There, standing by the table, was Sung with a large pair of barber’s scissors and a stupid grin of satisfaction on his face. Meouch bared his teeth at him in anger.

“Ok, Phobos. Tilt his head back, I don’t want to accidentally take off his nose.” Sung said quietly to the masked alien, who nodded. Meouch felt two cold hands grab the top and bottom of his head, pulling it up and back from his neck.

“Phobos, buddy, don’t do this. We’re pals, right?” Meouch grunted to the alien behind him, “C’mon, I’ll let you use my DS, you know, the one with the cat sticker that you like so much?”

Phobos stared at him blankly through his helmet, slowly shaking his head. Meouch groaned in despair.

“Ok, let’s begin!” Said sung with a smile.

When Meouch heard the first snip, he hissed violently.

 

* * *

 

 

After 30 minutes of hissing, spitting threats, and struggling quickly subdued by the Hogan, Meouch’s haircut was finally done. Sung stood back, tilting his head to the side to admire his handiwork.

“Eh, good enough.” Sung said, sliding the scissors back into the tiny bag clipped to his waist.

“Good enough?! Fucking hell, Sung, what did you do?!” Meouch screeched, writhing underneath Hogan’s arms; Meouch’s long locks were his pride and joy. Sung signaled to Hogan to release Meouch, who was unceremoniously dumped in a pile on the tiled floor, hissing violently. The cat scrambled out of the kitchen in a whirl of puffy hair and angry growls. At the other end of the house the bathroom door slammed. Phobos leaned up against the kitchen wall, counting down on his fingers. _5,4,3,2,1…_

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!” A muffled scream came from the bathroom, and Sung winced. He had tried to make the haircut look good, really. But he didn’t have a degree in hair styling. If fact, as of right now, the commander looked more like the fluffy end of a q-tip than a cat.

The click of clawed feet tore down the hall again, and Meouch appeared in the doorway, shoulders heaving in rage; he really did look like a pissed-off brunette cotton swab. “You fucked it up Doc. Now I gotta fuck up something YOU love.” He spat before pushing off the doorframe and running away.

Phobos and Hogan looked at Sung In alarm, who waved his hand dismissively in front of him. “I locked all my important stuff up, don’t worry. He’ll just blow off steam by ripping up my pillow or something replaceable like that.”

The kitchen was silent for a few moments, no-one making a sound except for the hum of the refrigerator. Suddenly, Sung bolted upright, eye wide in complete panic as a metallic clang echoed at the end of the house. Oh no. Fuckthrust.

  **He left his keytar on his bed.**   

A scream tore out of the doctor’s throat as he slipped and slid out into the hallway in his fuzzy morning socks, howling apologies and compromises to Meouch in the distance as more slams echoed from the distant bedroom.

Phobos put his head in his hands as Hogan laughed gratingly at the massive debacle Sung had just given himself.

 


	8. Sportsball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Outdoor Sports  
> Who doesn't love getting a little fresh air?

“PHOBOS.” The artificial voice boomed from Hogan’s chest speaker as he methodically searched for the pinkish alien. He had to find him before the game started, Doc said so. “PHOBOS, REPORT TO THE BACK DOOR IMMEDIATELY.”

Phobos walked out from the back hall into the room Hogan was raiding; a small little room with a couch and a shitty 2005 TV. The only reason anyone used the room was to walk through the sliding glass door to their yard. Hogan currently had his whole head jammed under the couch, as well as an entire arm; clearly under the impression that Phobos could hide just about anywhere. Phobos saw Hogan intensely searching, as well as holding his entire backside straight up into the air, and coughed politely. Hogan managed to extract himself from the couch and turned to face the magenta Lord. If he could have grinned, he would have.

Phobos and Hogan always got along really well. While it unnerved Sung and Meouch that Hogan would do nothing but be silent and stare, Phobos knew it wasn’t out of malicious intent or hatred; Havve just enjoyed watching more than he enjoyed talking. This led to Phobos and Hogan spending a lot of time together in comfortable silence. If fact, Hogan’s new favorite activity was to sit out on the deck, back to back with Phobos, and read some old earth literature.

Hogan, seeing Phobos, switched to sign language. _Meouch and Sung want everybody out on the lawn_ , he signed, tilting his head, _though I have no idea why._

_Did sung look really excited?_ Phobos queried.

_Like an Earthling spawn in a candy shop_. Hogan retorted.

_In that case_ , Phobos’s shoulders heaved in a silent sigh as he made his way to the door, _it cannot be good. Let’s get this over with._

Hogan nodded as they exited into the bring sunlight of their backyard. It was a beautiful place, to be fair. Living at the end of a road in the forest had its perks; the backyard had no real boarders, instead opening up into a large field that turned into woods 100 meters back.  In the late afternoon sun, birds chirped, as the two cyborgs made their way down the wooden porch steps towards the waiting feline and doctor. Sung was smiling and waving with gusto, holding four wooden bats. Meouch looked disinterested, holding a rubber ball under his arm as he set up a flimsy soccer goal.

“Good good good, you’re here! Now we can start!” Sung beamed, forcing a bat into everybody’s hands. He was positively radiating excitement, something he only did when on stage, or performing a dubious experiment. “Now, who here knows the rules of SportsBall?”

Phobos raised his hand like a student in a classroom, and Sung nodded to him. _What’s sportsball?_ Phobos asked, extremely confused. Sung’s smile, if possible, got even wider.

“I’m so glad you asked,” He said warmly, “SportsBall is the EPITOME of human earth sports all rolled into one! In soccer, you kick the ball on the ground. In hockey, you hit the ball on the ground. In basketball, you dribble the ball. In baseball, you hit the ball! Taking all these elements, I combined them into one. Isn’t that exciting?!”

Phobos grimaced as Meouch walked back towards them holding 1 hockey puck, 1 basketball, and 4 baseballs.

“Ok, here are the rules,” Sung began, corralling the 3 aliens into a huddle circle. “We each get a bat. Someone steps up to the plate, and hits the hockey puck I throw at them. The other three have to use their baseball bats to try and get the hockey puck, and kick it until it hits the person who hit it! Whoever successfully hits the hitter gets the basketball, which we will fight for to dribble and throw into the soccer goal. Got it?”

_What are the baseballs for, then?_ Signed Hogan.

Sung paused. “…I don’t know, I didn’t think that far.” His face lit up. “If the hitter keeps missing the hockey puck, we can throw the baseballs at their body for incentive!” Meouch grinned wildly at this revelation, and Phobos cringed; when it came to outside activities, Meouch was much more of a wrestler than a Frisbee-thrower.

Phobos was so absorbed in thinking about how he could stop Meouch from ‘accidentally’ knocking his brains out with a baseball bat that he didn’t see Sung initiate a round of ‘last person to touch their nose is it’ until it was too late. When he looked back up, Hogan had a thick metal digit placed on his mask and was shaking his head in disappointment at Phobos. _Go stand on the plate_ , he signed as he walked towards the outfield area. Phobos sighed, dragging his baseball bat behind him as he shuffled towards the plastic diamond. Stupid aliens and their stupid noses.

A hundred feet away, Meouch licked his upper lip as he readied his stance. Phobos was NOT an athlete; anyone could tell from his tall spindly figure alone that he probably didn’t do much physical activity. No, the silent lord preferred to read his old fancy Shakespeare books and quietly judge Meouch on his love for fighting, like some stupid high-and-mighty ‘better than you’ king. Well, now it was time to be better than Phobos. He was in Meouch’s territory now, and the feline was extremely eager to show off his honed reflexes and excellent eye-hand coordination. And also hit Phobos a couple times with some baseballs, but that could wait till later. Now he just wanted to beat him a few times.

Phobos shuffled his stance next to the plate a bit, holding up the bat like a limp noodle. Meouch could barely how back a giggle; it looked like a piece of pasta trying to swordfight with a soggy toothpick. The commander bent his knees, ready to hit the ball right back at Phobos as Sung wound up for the pitch.

He didn’t expect what happened next.

Sung threw hard, like really hard, winding back and chucking the puck at close to 100mph. Suddenly, right before the ball closed in, Phobos changed his whole stance. He tensed up, setting his back leg down for support, and wound the bat up. The resounding crack from the bat hitting the puck was closer to a sonic boom than a ball pitch, and Meouch dropped his bat to cover his sensitive ears. The puck went whizzing by his cheek in a blur of black that was almost too fast for him to track, flying what was probably a mile deep into the forest, snapping full-sized branches off in its wake.

The field was quiet as Phobos relaxed from his post-pitch, dropping the bat to the ground.

_Can I be done now?_ He signed to Sung, whose jaw was practically on the floor with surprise. Phobos took this as a yes, and quietly turned to walk back up to the house, posture back to reserved and silent.

“Holy shit,” Meouch breathed, absolutely stunned. He was angry, surprised, and denying how impressed he was to himself. “I gotta get that skinny bastard on my baseball team.”

 


	9. The Lake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quick fic about the boys on a day trip (and a brain break for me, who has been writing nothing but unpublished TWRP angst)

Hiking up to the lake for a picnic had been the most phenomenal idea he ever had, Sung claimed. He was so excited to sit in the shade and quietly admire the nature around them while eating the fancy meal he had brought them all. The cyclops alien wouldn’t stop blabbering the whole time as the band of four hiked their way up a pine forest path, overgrown by ferns and thick snarls of blackberry canes. The miscellaneous plants of Earth snagged on the identical hiking shorts that Phobos insisted everybody wear, which was uncomfortable (both the snagging AND the shorts) but worth it. The odd procession wound their way up the side of a beautiful mountain, occasionally all stopping to look through the break in the trees and the summer forest valley below them. Wind gently blew through the trees, dusting sweet pollen lightly over Meouch’s sensitive nose and making him sneeze. Sung led the way, carrying nothing (he claimed he was in charge of not getting them all lost), followed by Phobos (lugging a cooler with lunch), then Meouch (heaving a backpack full of sunscreen blankets), and finally ending with Hogan, who by some feat of robotic strength had carried the giant sun umbrella 3 miles from where they parked their car. 

It took them a little more than an hour full of complaining and nearly slipping down the hillside to get to the lake. As soon as Meouch set foot on the rough granite beach that surrounded it, he dropped down to a sitting position and refused to set up their little camp for twenty minutes, despite the repeated yanking on his shirt by Sung.

  
_Guys, stop bickering for 10 seconds and look at this._ Phobos signed to the pair, hitting them both on the shoulder and pointing to the lake. It was absolutely breathtaking; one of the most amazing examples of the beauty of earth Phobos had ever seen. The water was a sea blue, gently washing over the black-and white granite sand of the short with a soothing hiss. The lake itself was ringed in bright green forest that was sweet with the smell of wildflowers, and seemed to stretch for miles before you saw the mountains on the other side. In the middle of the lake was a series of tiny islands with one or two trees on them; some were house sized with huge climbable ledges, others no larger than a dining table and covered in a soft layer of green grass. The sky above was eye-wateringly blue and dotted with the occasional ridiculously puffy white cloud. In the distance, a bird warbled softly as a warm breeze ghosted across the water’s surface.

  
“…It’ll do.” Meouch gruffly conceded, finally getting off his ass and unpacking his backpack. Sung looked personally offended at his lack of appreciation of untouched nature, immediately launching into a long-winded speech about the dying beauty of Earth and nature’s preservation. The cat’s tail just flicked irritably as he tossed a bottle of sun lotion at Sung to shut him up. Phobos quietly laid out their picnic blanket on the rough sand, stopping only when he realized that Hogan was gone. He scanned the immediate area, concerned. Where had their fourth party member run off to? All Phobos saw was the abandoned umbrella on the shoreline, and his worry quickly deepened.

  
_Where’s Hogan?_ He signed worriedly to Sung, who in turn stood back up from his crouch and scanned the lake as well.

  
“Shit.” Doctor Sung said through terse lips. If they lost Hogan, in less than a day dead hikers would start making headlines on the news. He dusted the little granite particles off his yellow Labrador shirt and khaki hiking pants, then cupped his fingers around his mouth. “HOGAN!” He yelled, and Meouch shrieked in dismay at the sudden noise right next to his delicate ears. The sound echoed across the lake as Phobos looked around nervously.

  
A few feet away they heard the distinct splash of water, turning to see Hogan’s head suddenly surface a few meters out into the lake. Apparently he had immediately dropped the umbrella upon arriving and just continued walking straight into the water. What a weirdo. The summer sun glared off his smooth metal mask as he stared impassively at them, eyes just above the waterline like some menacing shark.

  
“You.. you good, buddy?” Sung called to him. There was movement under the water again, and this time Hogan’s hand surfaced, giving him a robotic thumb up. Sung pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. He turned to face Phobos, intent on asking him why Hogan either acted like a murder machine or a four year old human child, but all he found was a pile of clothes next to his feet. Turning back in confusion, he saw the bioluminescent alien running towards Hogan in nothing but boxer briefs and waving excitedly at the submerged robot with both arms, who in turn shot both arms out of the water in mirrored glee. Both aliens in their separate regards were usually very emotionally reserved and silent. However, when they were put together they seemed to share an extremely enthusiastic (if mute) relationship. Whenever Sung had the opportunity to ~~spy on~~ observe them, he was always surprised with how animated and emotional they both were, laughing and gesturing and holding very vibrant conversations between themselves as they gardened or (in this case) swam in the lake.

It was beautiful, seeing them both like that.

  
“Are you kidding me?!” The cyclops cried, lacing his hands together on his head in exasperation. The whole point of this trip was to stay dry and have a nice family-style outing with a fancy lunch; he didn’t even bring towels! Leave it to the two people he expected the least to act like children to mess up his plans. Sung’s eye twitched as he watched the two boys duck, roll, and hit each other with water, each occasionally letting out a screech of delight as he was playfully tugged backwards in range of splash attacks.

  
It looked _really fun_.

  
Sung was shaken out of his reverie by the jingle of a belt buckle. He turned to see Meouch with his shirt already off and one leg out of his shorts, who froze upon seeing doc turn to him, a sheepish grin on his face. They stood there frozen for a few silent moments before Sung sighed in defeat.

  
‘’Yeah ok fuck it, let’s go.”

  
The feline and the cyclops stumbled clumsily trying to get out of their clothes the fastest, each tripping down the beach and littering it with socks, shorts, and shirts. Meouch took the lead, shrieking as he ran into the water with Sung hot on his tail, arms outstretched to stop him and make himself first. Phobos and Hogan paused their conversation, both turning to see the other men waist-deep on the lake. They shared one quick look, nodded to each other, and started to sprint swim towards Sung and Meouch. The two men immediately realized their mistake and desperately tried to wade out of the water but it was too late; they felt two pairs of hands drag them back into the lake with extreme force. Meouch spluttered and protested as he was dunked in the cold water, and Sung nearly buckled over laughing at the soggy cat until he was pulled face first into the water as well. Meouch cackled as the cyclops broke the surface of the lake, coughing violently and spitting lake water back at Meouch. All the boys protested this new spit power Sung discovered.

  
On the shore the backpacks sat forgotten, unpacked and untouched. In this distance a bird called over the sounds of laughter and water, and a butterfly landing on the unopened umbrella.


End file.
